Southern Legitimacy Statement: I have eaten liver mush, frog legs, and gator bites. Worn orange overalls and purchased with $2.00, tiger stamped bills at Clemson football games. I have walked the swinging bridge at Grandfather Mountain and known that I was truly in God’s country. Afterwards, I did need a sip or two of an elixir (afraid of heights). I say thank you ma’am and sir, and even use ya’ll on a regular basis.
A Four Iron for Bashing Brains
Over breakfast, toast with strawberry jam and coffee,
(one Splenda and one creamer pod) Mother (94 years old) announced
she would henceforth keep a golf club behind the front door.
To bash in the brains of would-be robbers. I didn’t mention
the probability of (or lack of) burglars coming through the front entrance.
She proceeded to tell me someone was in her bedroom last night.
She heard him as he hovered near the footboard. Legs, tangled
in the cabbage-rose festooned sheets, rendered her immobile.
She lay tethered until sun-up. Wide-eyed and sweat soaked.
I checked the entries: the garage door (which can be ornery),
the windows. Her home had not been breached, but she was adamant.
So now, one of departed Dad’s Four Irons( Titleist Utility 510) sits
(beside the foyer welcome sign) near the console.
I did not have the heart to tell her that the voices came
from a Ghost that visited her each evening. Dad keeping
sentry. Informing her there are better uses for his cobwebbed clubs
than bashing in burglar brains.
the curls against the back of her neck
Fingerprints. Ocean waves somersaulting,
rolling into themselves. A spider plant
on the ledge in the den. Directly in line
with a sun beam, stems wiggling and circling.
Reaching toward the light. Magical.
Endless swirls. Wispy twirls.
Curls on the back of my
newborn baby’s neck.
Check out Carol’s chapbook on Ghost City Press. Martha June & Me